Fire and Ice
by Aqua Lion
Summary: "Ghost in the Lion"-inspired introspection. Lance just wanted to try something different. Sven just wanted to find his own path. The incident on Crydor only served to remind them how much they loved each other, but fate always had other plans.
1. Heart of Flame

**Fire and Ice** - Heart of Flame

_I told myself I wasn't gonna do this, but... sigh. Thank you, Ghost in the Lion. What I needed was more plot bunnies. And thank you, certain people who know who you are (Rachel!), this is ENTIRELY your fault! Heh.  
><em>_I apologize to Lance, because he'd say this title is lame. But sometimes when it's that easy you've just gotta take it.  
><em>_VF continuity, DotU to fill in the gaps._

* * *

><p>He tasted like ice.<p>

I know, that's silly. Ice is just water, and water doesn't taste. Except that it's _not_, it's... it's just different, I can't explain how, something cold and clean and sharp and _pure_. And the first thing I learned with him was that there are different kinds of cold. To be with Sven was to know the primordial chill at the heart of everything, letting his caress send shivers through you and finding that passion could burn so hot it froze.

Nobody else could make me wax all poetic like that. But with him around it was so easy. Something about him opened those places inside me that I'd never known existed. That sometimes I still can't reach unless he's the one I'm thinking of.

I call myself a soldier. Most others call me a lunatic. All I know is the only time I ever cared about security was wrapped in his arms, letting the cold soothe all that tension and recklessness away.

Security. Yeah.

Funny thing about that.

I believed he would always be there. He meant to always be there. And it was that loyalty—a loyalty I'd never known, never earned before, never dreamed I _could_ earn—that tore us apart.

His loyalty and my own stupidity. Because the ice is delicate, as fragile as it is beautiful, and if you let it come into harm's way it shatters. I'd believed he was unbreakable. And for once in my life, for the first time on the topic of my lover, I was wrong.

* * *

><p>From the moment I first laid eyes on him, I knew he was important somehow. He didn't say it. Didn't hold himself above anyone. But you could see it, the nobility flashing in those harsh gray eyes, the way he carried himself with such cold confidence. The way he always seemed to have waves of silent fury rolling off his skin. He didn't act forbidden, he just <em>felt<em> forbidden.

A challenge!

Always have loved challenges.

I watched him. Studied every move. How he slipped through the streets and halls of the academy, graceful and elusive as a single snowflake. How he absorbed every blow in combat training, immovable as a glacier. How in the dead of winter he would stay outdoors for hours in only a light jacket and get curious stares, always ignored, as the other cadets passed him by.

I can't remember the thought even occurring to me that I'd never chased after a dude before. I mean, I hadn't. But it didn't even cross my mind. He was going to be mine and that was that. How hard could it be? I could always get anyone I wanted. Anyone!

When I look back sometimes I wonder if I was tired of what my life had become. I was Lance, the hopeless rake, the skirt chaser, the one who always slipped away before dawn. Girls were nice for one night, maybe two, then they got annoying. Even when I thought something was serious I always found myself back in the same place.

I was drifting through the academy in a sea of piloting drills, disciplinary hearings, and dozens of nameless, faceless women. Is it so hard to believe I was lonely?

No way. I'm Lance! I don't get lonely. I just wanted something different.

This would be different. Trying to attract and conquer, not just picking up some quick score who could be forgotten equally quickly. The thrill of the hunt would make it sweeter.

Yeah, about that.

I started with the direct approach, just to see what he'd do, and he was in my bed an hour later. So much for the plan. I think that was when I realized what had attracted me to him so powerfully... he was so _pure_. Purer than the snow, purer than rays of light streaming off icicles in the morning sun. I'd never known someone like that before.

I stripped away his innocence so easily, but never that purity of his heart.

Yeah. I said innocence. You wouldn't have known it, from that rage seething under his surface, but in _these_ matters he was innocent as a kitten. But I'd seen that kind so many times. No innocence survived contact with Lance McClain, and neither did his.

One night. One night and I knew I never needed a girl again. One night and I knew he was mine as long as I wanted him... and I wanted him forever.

The first time was awkward. Thoroughly enjoyable, but still awkward. He had no idea what he was doing, and he readily admitted to that fact. So I taught him. And over the next few weeks I taught him everything I knew.

He learned so quickly.

Sven knew how to make me shudder like nobody else could ever dream. Knew every spot to run his fingers over, the precise amount of pressure that would make me cry out and beg for more. Usually that was my specialty, making the girl of the night squeal like... well... a girl. Nobody had ever been able to do that to _me_ before.

I haven't let anyone try since.

His touch was always cold. There was some very simple biological reason for it... he tried to explain it to me once, but I told him to shut up and go back to kissing. I loved his voice, that exotic accent washing over my senses. But I liked his mouth even better when it was locked against my skin.

* * *

><p>The day it all became real was the day he barged into my room, cursing and snarling, saying something about being called home.<p>

He was so angry. I'd seen him angry so many times, usually because I wanted him angry, because I knew how to calm him and turn the arctic rage in his eyes into desire. So easy. Just touch the most sensitive spot on him I could reach, listen to him yelp, melt the fury off his face and take him to the ground. Turn all that intensity to a more productive goal. He never did learn to expect _that_.

Or maybe he wasn't thinking through the anger.

Or maybe he just liked it that way.

But something was different this time. Something about being called home, as if you could just up and walk out on the Alliance. That only happened under special circumstances. Special circumstances that applied, for all I knew.

I always know where to draw the line. _My_ line. Maybe it's not the same place people would like me to draw the line, but I know how far I can really go.

Of all the impertinent questions I'd asked him to spark his temper, I'd never asked this one. But now it seemed important. This wasn't just idle curiosity, wasn't just me being brash because it infuriated and aroused him in the same moment. I needed to know. To help him. To keep him with me.

"Sven... what exactly is your title, on your homeworld?"

He'd never spoken of a title, I just knew he _had_ to have one. Knew because nobody else could carry themselves with such majesty. Knew because not even the ice could be so pure. But the scope? Nah. Couldn't have even guessed at that.

I expected to have to drag it out of him. No problem. He couldn't resist me any more than I could resist him. Maybe that's why he didn't try to hide it, but I'd like to think that wasn't it. I'd like to think he trusted me that much, because Lance the incorrigible flirt had never been worthy of anyone's trust before.

Either way those gray eyes raised, going nearly as pale as the tundra, and he averted them just as quickly. "My name," he whispered, "is Crown Prince Sven Holgersson of the Fifth Diaspora."

Oh lord.

I'd spent the last three months sexing up a prince? The wave of shock that washed over me carried a little regret along with it. A _prince_...

Think of all the royalty jokes I'd missed out on! Damn.

I can only imagine what my expression must have looked like. I couldn't ask him, because he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the comm set in his hands. Staring at it like it held a thousand answers that I couldn't see.

And then he threw it at the wall and watched it break.

"I reject this."

"Sven?"

"I'm not going back there, Lance."

"Dude, you're their prince."

"No! I'm not. I reject that... all of it!"

"But it's your home."

He had that terrifying look in his eyes that he got when he was determined. That look that could freeze your soul, that said it was useless to argue with him, and that's why I was arguing. I didn't want him to leave. Of course I didn't. But I _knew_ he wasn't going anywhere, the second I saw that look, so I protested.

I protested to hear him confirm it.

I still didn't expect what he said.

"My home is here, Lance. And unless this is you telling me to leave... my home will _never_ be anywhere but where you are." And he grabbed me and kissed me so furiously the ice drove down my throat to pierce my heart.

I saw his homeworld in that moment. Our eyes were locked on each other and there was something in his I could only call desperate, begging me to tell him it was okay. I'd had lovers beg me to stay with them before. I'd never had a lover beg for the right to stay with _me_. But... I saw it. A reflection of drifting snow and howling winds. Bleak. Hopeless.

I understood why he hated it. I understood why he loved me.

He pulled back. Blinked. And that image was gone, leaving only my own reflection in his eyes.

"Are you sure about this, Sven?"

"Did that feel uncertain?" His eyes narrowed and he ran a finger gently down my chest. "Do you need me to go further to prove just how sure I am?"

I answered that the only way I knew how. By dragging him onto the bed and demanding he do just that. Showing him how thoroughly I accepted his promise.

We never mentioned his past again... like I said, I know where to draw the line.

* * *

><p>Arus was supposed to be perfect. We were deployed together, how could it not be perfect?<p>

Haggar. Bitch.

The old witch was clever. She set a flawless trap, baited it to ensure her target couldn't fail to appear. Sometimes I wonder if it was focused so precisely on me. If my lack of control made me the weakest link and they knew it. If I'm responsible...

Of course I'm responsible. It doesn't matter if it was intentional on their part, all that matters is I took the bait. Fell into her twisted clutches.

It's why I get after Daniel, when he goes off like the hotheaded idiot I recognize so well. I want to tell him everything. That I've been there. That someday he's going to cost himself someone he loves dearly.

But even now I can't bring myself to say that out loud.

I put up a damn good fight. Crazy witch. We were just pilots, not ready to face battle and magic on the ground, but I fought like hell. No way was I going to live down to the mess I'd just gotten myself into. It was just another inconvenient little scrape, like a thousand I'd come through before. No problem.

No problem. Story of my life. I never have problems. I'm Lance!

I held my own against the witch. But then there was movement at my side. Movement I couldn't hope to block or dodge without giving the witch a clear shot.

The cat. I'd forgotten the damned _cat_.

And suddenly there was a shadow in front of me, and something much larger and stronger than a housecat knocked me to the ground, and the cat was yowling and Sven was screaming and the witch was laughing and...

Everything.

Froze.

I think an eternity passed before I realized his blood was soaking my chest. It was hot. It shouldn't be... his blood should be cold, shouldn't it? When everything was right, he was cold.

Nothing was right.

He wouldn't let go of me. Not even when the cat backed off and we saw the shadow looming over us, heard the snarl of one last combatant. Where the hell did that monster even come from? But it didn't matter, because Sven saw it, because he tightened his grip on me and took the full blow across his shoulders.

The blow meant for me.

Tears mixed with his blood, tears that were as cold as the blood was hot. I still don't know if they were his or mine.

I avenged him. Dragged that robeast into the lava that couldn't burn near as hot as my rage. Burn, you miserable bastard! Burn in all the fires my lover will never know again. He could take the heat, and it was meant for him. Him alone! Anyone else who touches that fire can only turn to ash.

But he _wasn't_ dead. I should have known better. He wouldn't die so easily, he wouldn't just leave me like that. He was too strong for that, too loyal to succumb to petty little biological realities. There was no choice but to send him off-world, though. Not if he was to continue to live.

I squeezed his hand and it was so cold. The wrong kind of cold. And watched the ship that took him from Arus until it had been out of my sight for hours.

* * *

><p>When he resurfaced he didn't come back. They needed him on Pollux, much more than we needed him on Arus. The team spent a week on that planet, guests of the princess we'd saved, and every night he begged me to understand. Pleading with his words and his body at the same moment. The frost of his skin had not changed, and we stayed pressed against each other until every one of my muscles ached from that sensual cold.<p>

I did understand.

Of course I understood why he stayed with her, not because she'd saved him, but because she still needed saving and he wouldn't just leave _her_, not like that. I knew Sven so well. Knew what was going through his mind when he looked at her so fondly. He didn't need to justify himself.

At least I knew he was alive. At least I knew where he was, and Pollux wasn't that far away. He'd given everything for me, and I could give him this.

Romelle knew about me. She was... she's a good person. A wonderful person. She came to Arus one day, when he was busy on a scouting mission elsewhere. Came to talk to _me_, of all people. Came to tell me that he'd told her about us, to promise she was not a threat.

I don't know how she did it. I'd barely met her and I could see she loved him, in ways she knew he would never return. That's the intellectual side of me—yes, I have one!—talking, though. All I heard at the time was _he still loves you_.

Diplomatic arrangements would be made. Once the Drules were defeated, and relations between our planets became more routine than the military matters called for, we would need an ambassador from Pollux. Who better?

Sven hated diplomacy, and I was so looking forward to that. Sex was always better when he was angry. When he took on that darker chill and all but demanded I burn it away. Which, I should add, I was very good at doing.

Of course it wasn't that easy. Because Sky Marshal Wade was a psychotic bastard and just _had_ to make things difficult for everyone.

The Drules were defeated, but it wouldn't have mattered who was on Arus. Because I was on Earth, stalking the halls of the GA flight academy, terrorizing the cadets, searching for something. Nothing specific. Just something. Watching Wade's tricks, keeping my eyes open. Waiting for a cadet or two to display appropriate qualities for recruitment. Waiting for the right moment to move.

I still don't know how he got into my bedroom. He was just _there_ one day, smirking, saying he'd gotten a seasonal diplomatic detachment from Pollux. Oh, he hated diplomacy. But not as much as he loved me.

There were two perfect months. It was the heat of the summer, but all I knew was the ecstasy of winter. Then he had to go back. He kissed me, cool and gentle as new snow, and swore he would come back as soon as possible.

And then he vanished.

* * *

><p>The kid wasn't a shock. I knew. Romelle told me exactly why he'd run. She couldn't tell me where... she'd thought he had been planning to come to Earth. But days turned to weeks that turned to months, and he never appeared.<p>

I refused to believe he was dead.

So he'd been with someone that wasn't me. I couldn't be angry, not when she explained, dancing around the details but making the spirit behind the act clear. Platonic sex! Ridiculous. It was so... so... Sven. Maybe I hadn't quite managed to take every shred of his innocence after all.

Jealous? Nah. I can bring myself to share his body. I don't need to be jealous, because I know I have his heart, because I'm Lance and as long as I want him he's still _mine_. I just hope Romelle enjoyed it as much as I always did. Hope she appreciated what she had.

A child, though. I couldn't see him as a father. Not by himself. Not alone in whatever corner of the galaxy he'd fled to. And I couldn't see myself as a father, either, but I was ready to try to learn if he wanted me to help him. If he would just come back to me.

I kept wondering if that was why he didn't show up. If only it had just been that... and then suddenly the war erupted. I was on Arus again. We could've used him, to help us fight Wade. To deal with the holy terrors we'd recruited into our ranks as cadets. But he was still nowhere to be found.

Until that day on the beach.

Crydor. I feel so stupid for not realizing it sooner! A frozen hellhole that was home to a race of vikings, seriously. So obvious.

But maybe I was in denial. Maybe I knew, from the moment it was Blue Lion that was taken, from the moment Pidge said the Castle of Lions seemed to know the thief. Maybe I just couldn't bring myself to believe I'd just fought him.

Really, who else could it have been? Piloting better than me, indeed. Sven... argh! But I can admit it. He always _could_ outmaneuver me, in a lion as easily as in bed.

He nearly killed all of us, and all I can remember is how I felt when his voice first came over my comms. How glad I was Daniel was there, to prevent me from saying—or doing—anything rash.

Rash by _my_ standards, I mean. That's pretty rash.

For the briefest of moments when I heard that voice, I'd have handed over my own lion just to have him back.

To touch him again.

To feel his icy breath on my skin.

To just hear that ridiculous accent whisper my name.

Sven! Never forget what you told me, damn you. Crydor is _not_ your home. Because I'm not there... but I'll come back. I'll come back once we've found a cure. I'll come to get you and drag you back to Arus to be healed, kicking and screaming if that's what it takes.

And then we're going to make up for lost time. I won't let you go until my body stops working, numb from the pleasure and the cold.

I still love you, Sven.


	2. Heart of Frost

**Fire and Ice** - Heart of Frost

* * *

><p>He tasted like fire.<p>

In my mind it still sounds ridiculous, but there's no other way to describe it. The heat of his breath was inhuman, and there was always the faintest tinge of ash lurking there. He didn't smoke. It wasn't like that at all. More like the living flame he held inside him was so uncontainable... to be with Lance was to let that molten essence pour into you, to be lost in the warmth of his eyes and the scorching touch of his tongue.

It began because he was in the right place at the right time. That simple. I couldn't even see him as a person, not at first... he was the avatar of rebellion, the symbol of all that I'd been hidden from my whole life. Beyond human. He dared me to answer his advances, and I took that dare so easily I think it startled him.

But I knew who he was. Lance had a reputation, one so widespread that even I'd heard of it. With _girls_. How he latched onto me, I'm not sure. But he latched, and he latched hard, and what in the world did I know about romance? I'd been protected. Sheltered. Always.

Try to taste the fire, and you'll only get burned. I remember thinking that the first time we kissed. And thinking, just as quickly, that it surely had to be worth it. That I would try to catch this flame in my hands for as long as I could, no matter how much it would end up hurting.

But it never hurt.

Not from _his_ actions, anyway.

The pain came much later. When I was too weak to fight my way back to him. When I lost my grip on that blaze that owned my soul.

* * *

><p>Growing up as royalty means you don't know what it is to be alive.<p>

I'd never had a confidant in my life. The idea of speaking to someone as an equal, sharing our secrets out of nothing more than friendship... something in that flooded me with a warmth that was different, but no less pleasant, than the physical attraction we shared.

Which admittedly _was_ so much more than friendship.

I could tell him anything. Everything. It was no use hiding anything he wanted to know, though there were so few things I tried to hide. Not from him. My heart and soul were his, unquestioned. Of course I trusted him with the deepest corners of my mind. Even when I was angry with him that trust could never be broken.

That happened often enough... I'd always believed I was unshakable. He took some kind of mad delight in proving me wrong, in showing just how many ways he could get under my skin, in pushing me to the edge and grabbing me back just before I could slip.

Somehow he _always_ knew just where to stop.

I'd be two seconds from losing my temper, and suddenly he'd shut up and do something like run his lips down my ribcage or start licking like flame over my skin... and it would be gone. I'd spent my life nursing the ability to hate, and he could melt it all away in a moment. Whatever he'd said that nearly set me off would be off limits from that point forward, and I still don't know how he kept all the targets he'd already hit straight in his mind.

Let alone how he kept finding new ones.

Nobody else has ever made me feel vulnerable. I wouldn't tolerate it if they did. But with Lance I was _always_ vulnerable, wondering where he would venture next, what new plot he had to send fire racing down my spine. And he never disappointed. Never.

I tried to ask him about himself so often. I wanted to know what it was like, having some semblance of a normal life on a normal planet. More importantly I wanted to know what it was that drove the eternal flame he held within. What made my lover's soft brown eyes flicker with that taunting, challenging light.

Questions usually got me the same answer. I can still hear it so clearly in my mind.

"That's for me to know and you to find out." So Lance. He spoke with that songlike, mocking lilt that made me want to either punch him or kiss him until he broke. But it was not a refusal to answer. Not if I paid the right price.

Is it still a price if you look forward to paying it?

Kissing worked at first. At least until he realized he could make a game of it, decide what he really wanted, wait until I figured it out. Very creative, Lance was... but I always got my answers. Sort of.

He was such a wonderful storyteller.

Those were some of the happiest moments. Lying up against him, soaking up the searing heat of his skin, listening to him weave tales of his past that I'm pretty sure were usually pure fiction. By that point it didn't even matter. I just wanted to hear him talk, watch that smirk dance over his face, drift off in the afterglow and awaken still by his side.

* * *

><p>They ordered me to come back.<p>

Did I not make it clear enough, when I left that hopeless wasteland of a planet, that I wanted no part of my role? How dare they call me back like some sort of pet to return at their whim? Forget it. I'd found... not where I belonged. But who I belonged with. And I was not going anywhere.

Anywhere!

I went to Lance to reassure myself. To cauterize my fury with his touch. To beg him to tell me I was right... maybe beg isn't quite the right word. But I pleaded with him so often. To make him see how much I needed him. Knowing I was sinking to such a level would have infuriated those idiots back on Crydor, who thought I should be above such things, and that was an added bonus.

Besides, he could never actually say no to me. His pressure points were my playthings, the only question was how long he could hold out.

But how the hell did he know I had a title? I don't think I'd realized how truly well he could read me.

I never did make much of a prince. There was no pride in the name, no glory. Only the crushing weight of a responsibility I didn't want to bear. Sit around and be regal. Learn diplomacy and live your life as a soulless figure of reverence. This is your duty, to the planet, to your people. To the monarchy.

The people and the monarchy can still rot in a frozen hell. At the time I was pretty sure the planet could share the same fate.

What really says how deep my disdain for that nonsense went... I never did tell Romelle. I let her believe I was nothing but a pilot, even tried to claim that might come between us. When I finally rejected my title, I rejected it thoroughly. Perhaps inconveniently so. But I never was one to make decisions out of convenience.

Obviously. Look who I was in love with.

This was Lance. He wasn't known for commitment. And here it had been three months... three months that felt like they'd passed by in three minutes, though every night had lasted a lifetime.

When he argued about my decision not to return, I couldn't help wondering. But no. This would not be the end. It _couldn't_ be. I needed him too much, and I trusted him not to let me go.

I trusted him.

And this was Lance, and surely I should have regretted trusting him long before that moment, but if you have to regret it wasn't ever trust at all, was it? I couldn't stand it, and I wasn't waiting. I kissed him like I truly believed I would never do so again, and looking back sometimes I wonder if that was the truth.

Maybe he was testing me. Maybe, every once in awhile, he just needed to hear me say what he was already so certain of. His reasons didn't matter. What mattered was that he wrestled me to the sheets and dispelled any fragment of doubt I may have had.

The world always became... softer... after sex. Everything took on a paleness and quiet where I could pick out patterns and facts more easily. I was still tangled up with him when I came to fully realize what I'd just done. That I had committed to throwing away the only life I'd ever known, hateful as it may have been, after four months on an alien world. Three months in this hellion's grasp.

"Lance..."

"You've been holding out on me, Sven. That was even better than usual."

"Lance."

His gaze could go from teasing to concerned so quickly. "What's wrong?"

Remember how I wouldn't be vulnerable for anyone else? My greatest show of trust. "I'm... afraid."

The way he looked at me. Like he'd heard it all before. Like he'd been expecting that admission forever. Like he knew everything. He _did_ know everything. And then he pulled me even closer, somehow. I was bigger than him, but he was surrounding me, his body ablaze, eyes locking me in place as if I might never move again, and that would have been just fine.

"I'm here."

He didn't say anything else. He didn't have to.

* * *

><p>That hothead always did know how to get himself in trouble. Taking on Haggar alone though, really? That was a little beyond the usual antics.<p>

I had a shot at her. Could've taken it. She didn't notice me charging in, trying to find him, wondering where on Arus he'd gotten himself lost _this_ time because he couldn't stick to the castle where he ought to have been. And there she was, her back to me, all but begging for me to strike. She didn't notice. But she wasn't alone.

Somehow I knew the cat was something more. Knew I couldn't let it touch him. So I passed up the chance to end the witch's threat and threw myself at Lance with all my strength.

I've always been selfish like that.

Later on, in the hospital, they would try to tell me the details. Which veins the bite had pierced, how much blood I'd lost, how lucky I was to have survived that before the robeast even came into the picture. How they had done everything they knew to treat the infection and thought they had it contained. But I didn't care about any of it.

Only him.

I saw the shadow. Coming for us. No... coming for Lance. But it wasn't going to touch Lance, because Lance was _mine_, because I couldn't live without him and if I couldn't save him there was no reason to exist, and then the shadow drew up and...

Everything.

Burned.

The force of the strike drove me painfully into him, mocking all the intimacy we'd shared before that point. For a moment it was as if my whole body was trying to quench his flame. He was smothered by my embrace, drenched with my blood, soaking up my tears.

Of course I cried. I cried like I never had before, like I never have since. I cried because I thought I was dying... not because I _feared_ death. No. Only because death was coming and my voice had already fled. I couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak.

Couldn't tell him for the last time that I loved him.

Is that implicit when you die for someone?

My body was stronger than my mind. No... maybe it wasn't that. I refused to die until I knew he was safe. But when the blackness set in I knew no such thing, and so I did not die. Not on Ebb, where a patient from Arus raised eyebrows because the worlds barely had any contact. Not on Doom, where I remembered how to be alone and moved through the caves like a frozen ghost. Not on Pollux, after regaining contact, where I kissed him so fiercely and drank in his warmth and told him I couldn't come back quite yet.

Not on Crydor... where there is nothing left to live for.

I wish I'd just died protecting him. Faded away in his arms. I could have been happy with that.

* * *

><p>My son's name is Geir. It's a good name. Powerful. Fitting for the last son of Crydor.<p>

It means spear.

So does Lance.

I wish I'd had time to tell him... he would be so embarrassed. That makes it better, though. I can almost imagine his reaction, and it makes me laugh even if it's only a dream.

Honestly there's so little but dreams to laugh at anymore. Ever since I had to flee Pollux with my child... my _child! _It still sounds so unnatural. So impossible.

How could that have come about?

Simple, really. I was doing Romelle a favor.

That sounds so arrogant Lance would probably approve of it, but I don't mean it like that. My relationship with her... how to explain it? I loved her so strongly. And I still do. Never as desperately as I loved Lance, but still, the bond between us is as unbreakable as it is indescribable.

But it is _entirely_ platonic.

She knew I could feel nothing physical for her. I would never string her along like that, allow her to think otherwise. She knew and accepted it.

Still we loved. We confided. She's only the second person in my life I could trust like that, and we shared our darkest shadows.

What Lotor did to her... was terrible. She couldn't bring herself to speak of everything, but she told me more than enough. Enough that whenever I think of that miserable creature, I embrace every bit of my infected rage, with nothing but his death in my mind. It doesn't seem to stick, does it? But if he keeps coming back, I can keep killing him. In a few hundred such deaths he might begin to have paid for his sins.

Those shadows never fade.

But Romelle _was_ a princess, and she took her duty seriously in a way I never took mine. There were practical concerns. Suitors would come. An heir was required. And she could not stand the touch of any man.

Except me.

That was the favor. To try to purge those hateful memories, to erase Lotor's torment and write a happier story to replace it. She trusted me deeply enough to ask, and I loved her deeply enough to agree.

I could not have anticipated...

She screamed. God, how she screamed—not in ecstasy but in pure terror as the flashbacks were reflected in her eyes. Love is not supposed to be that way! The first time I nearly ran, but she wouldn't allow it. Wouldn't let me abandon her, no matter how painful it might be. And so I became the ice, locking out the screams, my heart impenetrable to all but the flame.

Romelle never burned. Not like Lance.

We were careful. Very careful. And yet somehow... there was a child. Such a scandal could not be allowed. And so I fled Pollux, taking Geir with me, promising to keep him safe.

I failed. Of course I failed.

But he's safe now. And far closer to the one I love than I am.

* * *

><p>I think it was her screams that woke the infection. That sparked my rage until it became uncontainable. But I can't be certain. It might have been something far darker...<p>

I _betrayed_ him.

The child I'd taken with me was a political nuisance to Pollux, but to me he was so much more. A tangible symbol of my unfaithfulness. No, he was not conceived in that spirit... but the fact remains, the boy _is_ mine. And dear as he is to me, the guilt is crippling.

I hate myself far more than I could ever hate Lotor.

Either way, the rage overwhelmed me. My people are predisposed to such berserker fury, and I'd thought I had it contained, but clearly not so much as I'd hoped. The old wound surged with a terrible life of its own, and my plans to find sanctuary on Earth faded as its intensity grew.

The only thing I'd never told Lance was the name of my planet. I told him I would not speak it, my hatred ran that deep. He didn't challenge that. Sometimes I think—no—I _know_ that was Lance's most powerful display of love. Those rare moments where he simply agreed not to press.

With the infection as it was, I had no choice. The chill of that world which had once nearly broken my soul might save it. But just as I abandoned my people, they abandoned me. When I returned to Crydor nothing was left but ruins. The Fifth Diaspora was over... they had moved on.

I don't know where they are now. I don't care where they are! They abandoned their own world as well. To hell with them.

I feel quite comfortable wishing for others to go to hell. I've been there.

I'm still there.

Crydor is mine now. Some irony there... when it became a lifeless and shattered world, I finally came to see it as a home I could be proud to rule. And for a few months I even had some hope. Perhaps I was driven by the madness of the infection, perhaps by the madness of my own hated past. I thought maybe Geir and I might rebuild this planet. Make it a place of healing rather than misery, glory rather than rage.

Foolishness. But I held onto it because it was so much easier than admitting I'd exiled us to a dead world.

Perhaps Maahox and his broken deal really did cure my son, in a way. He saved him from me.

* * *

><p>The last thing I wanted to do was hurt him. Damned hothead. If he'd just stayed still... if he'd just <em>listened<em>... no. I know I attacked him first, but I couldn't help it! How could I possibly try to explain what I was doing when my body was screaming for blood?

I can double cross as well as any Drule. My mistake was in not thinking they would beat me to the punch.

At the time it seemed so easy, so clever. I promised to give them Blue Lion. I said nothing about its key. Crydorian black ice tech is very precise, but its products can't hold their form outside the arctic winds of this world. I had the false key all ready for the trade. Geir and I would be healed, and Maahox would be going nowhere.

With the infection gone I could help the team again. Reveal the deception. Get Blue Lion back, and leave this miserable place forever. But only _after_ being cured... I'd be a liability otherwise.

And I was.

I know perfectly well I'm not rational like this. But knowing it isn't enough. There's only so much to be done, to fight it when the searing malice seeps into my mind.

Searing. Yes.

Whenever the infection flares... the pain is one thing. I've known plenty of pain, once even dared to think I was beyond it. I can handle that. The daggers stabbing out from the wound, the way my blood suddenly stings the insides of my veins. An inconvenience, no more.

But it burns. It always burns.

Damn it! Go ahead. Corrupt my mind, twist my body. But _do not _defile the fire! Leave me at least that much. I will gladly watch myself break, helpless against this malignancy, if only you leave me the pure memory of that flame.

Of course it isn't so simple.

Of course it isn't so merciful.

Every time the wound burns, I let it reign. I will not shroud myself in the cold. Will not let this vile inferno become a mockery of past love. My ice is for him alone to melt away.

I... I want him to come back. No. He _must not_ come back! But I just want... one more time. Touch me once more. Remind me how it feels to burn with pleasure rather than agony, and let that last moment of redemption be my funeral pyre.

I still love you, Lance.


End file.
